


Cloud No. 9

by Meowbowwow



Series: The Smut Tales Of 221B [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Smut, dirty talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowbowwow/pseuds/Meowbowwow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smut and Fluff. Down day in 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloud No. 9

There are days when you feel the sun on your skin, gently slithering off you and yet, the warmth of the body you are curled next to puts it to shame. It was one of those days when John Watson knew that things would be slow, snail like, slower than the earth itself. And as Sherlock whispered something in his hair and pulled him closer, he whispered something back, not knowing what and buried his face under his chin. A deep chuckle travelled straight from the throat to his nose and settled deep inside him, gentle purring, hands stroking him and pulling him even closer, the frost of the winter dusting London and nothing that sighed remained unfrozen that day, except for them.

And then there were the soft touches that marked their mornings, careless and unfettered, an eternity’s yearning in the brush of a thumb against the clavicle, unmeasured depth in mouths bumping against each other and finding their way around closed eyes and morning breaths. Sometimes, there were closed curtains and the hint of sunlight as Sherlock smiled before wrapping himself securely around John. At others it was a scrunched face of a very annoyed doctor being kissed and caressed because the sun was in his eyes. They enjoyed each other’s morning habits as much as they enjoyed the long drawn drawl of skin on skin.

The sounds in the kitchen were music to the ears of John when he woke up in a huff to the sudden absence of a lanky body curled up next to him. And he would drink a tea that was too milky or biscuits a tad too stale as he sat on the kitchen table that had been cleaned by carefully placing all the beakers under it so that every time he moved his legs, his toe knocked off beakers or pots. They would then eat, slowly and measured, burnt toasts simmering in their mouths and apologetic grins frozen in the chilled air of the morning, London was unforgiving and relentless in its winters.

And then there were days like today, when you wanted nothing but to pull the curtains together or the duvet over your head and not wake up because it was a day when nothing could make you get up and put your warm toes on the cold floor. It is wrongly assumed that the sheer comfort of a down day would be lost on someone who is happy doing what they are but for people who work hard, every day, running after patients and criminals alike, it is like a respite from their hobbies, a much needed and well deserved break.

“John…” breath tickled his ear as he was spooned from behind, always content and pushed back only to find a very prominent something poking at him. Hands travelled to his front and started unbuttoning his shirt, the softness of the morning replaced by hurried and frantic kissing on his neck till he drew back and opened his eyes.   
“Come here,” Sherlock pulled him closer, beautiful cupid bowed lips ravaging his, going straight for the kill because he knew John loved to kiss, they had spent hours in their initial romance phase doing nothing but necking on the couch and John could have gone on forever like that.

“Wanna sleep” he mumbled, pushing the needy hands off him and buttoning his shirt back, shivering a bit because of the sudden blast of cold air. It had always been so that John had to coax Sherlock into making love, he tried to alternate between gentle and sensuous coaxing, fingers stroking knees in cabs and hot love making when they came back to the flat or hard snogging sessions and frotting in alleys and patient long drawn love making later. There had never been an instance when Sherlock had initiated it and now that he was, John found himself choosing sleep, albeit a little ruefully because the love-bite on his neck was still stinging a bit.

“But, I want it…you,” Sherlock pressed himself to his back and rocked against him, pleading in his own way. And John would have given in. It turned him on, frankly, the begging bit. Not to mention, “I want to slowly suck you off, tease you for a long time before you give up and I let you come. I want you to rock inside me, slowly, facing me till I shiver and shake and positively sob for you to move and then you do”. Sherlock always got what he wanted by simply lowering his voice or kissing the inside the John’s knees, there were tricks and he didn’t shy away from playing dirty. But not today, maybe it was something about the morning or perhaps, it was Sherlock rubbing off on John (not literally, _although_ …) but John shifted away from the body. God he was hard.

“Oh…” John went red as he realised that Sherlock could and had read him, knew what he was thinking and if his low growl was any indication, loving it. He heard him move and throw the duvet off him as he loomed over John and John was almost giving up when he stretched his hand to get the bottle of lube from the drawer. Ah.

“Look at me, John,” he murmured and the tone hit him straight in his groin where the response was pretty positive. He turned around and saw Sherlock as he squirted some lube on his palm, pulling his pants down with a devilish grin as his erection was freed and John licked his lips, the pyjamas lay discarded at the foot of the bed. Unconsciously, he reached down to palm at his own erection through his pants as Sherlock slicked himself up, his eyes meeting John’s as he groaned on the contact.

“Oh, John, would you like to know what I’m thinking?” He said as he tugged at his erection at a glacial pace with one hand and played with his balls with the other. Without waiting for a response, he continued.  
“Remember that time when we were at that horrible party of Mycroft’s and you were sitting across from me, and you were wearing that deep blue suit? Oh god John, you have no idea how much I wanted you that night. Do you remember?”

John nodded, he remembered everything pretty well, not his best moment of self-control because Sherlock Holmes was horny and a party with a thousand people couldn’t put him off as he licked the fork clean of the dark chocolate mousse he was eating and quirked his brow at John who was gaping at him open mouthed. And then John had gently slid his feet off his shoe and traced the very teasing detective’s calf with it, to make him almost drop the fork. Maybe it had been Sherlock’s fault for looking like sex on legs but John pushed his knees apart with his foot as he looked around to confirm that no one was looking at them.

“And then, what did you do, John?” Sherlock’s voice brought him back to the bedroom where the detective was running his hands on the inside of his thighs, spreading them apart so that a John Watson would fit there perfectly. But this made John push his hands down his own pants as he remembered how he had traced those thighs through that suit, making him close his eyes for a while, Sherlock Holmes losing control in front of so many people by the hands, no wait, foot of John Watson. As he rested his heel flat against the tent of his lover’s trousers, savouring his Crème Brule and a very flushed detective trying hard not to push against it, Mycroft had messaged: _Don’t think of this as a favour to you two. There’s a car waiting outside – MH_

“The car was spacious, wasn’t it? Oh, I can never forget how you almost threw me inside and kneeled between my legs-” Sherlock stopped talking to play with his balls, rolling them between his fingers, they were almost as heavy as they had been that day as John had buried himself nose deep in his soft pubic hair and licked them till Sherlock moaned, and the car rattled off.

“Oh yes, it was, and then I pulled your tie off and sucked that mark right under your jaw, do you remember that, Sherlock?” He sat as closer as he could, following the unspoken rule of not touching but leaning in as close as he could, pumping his fist slowly as Sherlock looked at him with his mouth open and John winked at him cheekily.

“Turn to that side and open yourself up for me, love,” he whispered and he couldn’t help but brush his nose under his ear and inhale distinctly, sighing. He loved Sherlock’s scent, it was a strange note of musk and something John had never been able to point exactly but he tasted like cinnamon, and if John closed his eyes, he could feel his palate get a kick by the scent of it. Sherlock squirted some lube in his hand and coated his fingers liberally, reaching behind himself as John saw his finger disappear up to the first knuckle and he groaned loudly at the sudden coolness and intrusion. As he pushed it in and slowly started fucking himself on his fingers, John licked his lips as the cold sweat on the nape of his neck trickled down, giving him the barest of moans as Sherlock pushed another finger and groaned the most delicious of groans.

“If you could look at yourself right now, oh god, Sherlock,” John maintained his slow painful rhythm, trying to draw it out. He loved the pleasure pain of the slow wait, of the growing tension in his balls, the prolonging of the feeling and the tease behind it all. Sherlock took his fingers out and stretched himself to reach the bedside drawer, the muscles on his smooth back stood out sharply, the occasional freckle in stark contrast to the pale expanse of skin that John had memorised with his tongue. He wanted to run his tongue down and lick the sweat that ran down the side of him onto the sheets, he wanted to press himself along the length of him and bury himself deep inside till they rocked each other to climax.

Sherlock retrieved a long dildo, the one he preferred to use when John had to go and stay at Harry’s and they had skype sex and he pushed the head in, letting the cold tip rest against his entrance as he exhaled and slowly pushed it further, panting. He could hear John’s hand still moving, a bit faster now and as the toy was lodged deep within him and brushed his prostate, he pushed the button and the head started moving, stimulating him.

“Oh god, John!” he moaned, taking his erection in his hand and brushing his thumb over the slit. “God, this is good. You know what?” he turned his head just enough so that John could see him smirk, “I think I prefer it over you, oh!” John growled closer and pushed the little button to shut the thing off and Sherlock gave a disappointed faux grunt as the toy was carefully pulled out of him.

“Do you really?” John sucked on his lobe and bit it hard as he pulled his pants down and freed his erection. He lined himself behind Sherlock and wrapped his own hand around his erection as he lapped at the neck and pushed hard in a single motion.

“Oh fuck, yes!” Sherlock pushed into John’s fist, his hands going back to clutch at his possessive doctor’s ass as he fucked Sherlock without abandon.  
“Mine, always mine!” John grunted in his ear as hit the bundle of nerves and Sherlock didn’t know whether to push back or to thrust into the waiting fist, the sound of skin slapping against skin the only other sound apart from their moans.

“Harder!” Sherlock almost sobbed on the sensory overload as John pumped faster and moved harder, knowing that he was very close. Sherlock came with a loud scream, his fingers digging painfully on John’s ass as his insides clenched wonderfully and John came too, clutching him closer, his nose at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, just above the spot where he’d bitten hard as he came. They stayed like that for a few seconds and when reality called back in the form of a cold draught, John pulled out carefully and cleaned them up with a wad of tissues. Sherlock didn’t move as John tried to get a bit off his front and the sheet, breathing still hard and eyes closed.

As John pulled the duvet over them and settled down, he turned around and snuggled closer. Sherlock being a snuggle-octopus had been a big surprise for John when he had found out about it. A good surprise, though.

He loved how Sherlock’s breathing evened out in a few minutes and how quickly he fell asleep if John ran his fingers through his scalp. Also, this was the only thing that could entice Sherlock into sleeping like humans and it always worked, so John wasn’t really complaining.

“That was good, eh?” He kissed his forehead as Sherlock wrapped his legs around him and smiled. That was another good thing about the winters of London, the snow outside killed the spirit of the hardest of criminals and for a change, Sherlock Holmes didn’t mind the boredom. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for perspicacioussociopath's competition.


End file.
